


Strangeness and Charm - Baldur's Gate Enhanced Edition

by AvandraTheMarySueSlayer



Series: Strangeness and Charm [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Dorn Il-Khan is bae, F/M, I might post smut one-shots to compensate (?), Like too fucking slow, Slow Burn, but bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer/pseuds/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer
Summary: Cat is a young, talented witch chased by assasins, nightmares and a calling for blodshed she can barely control. During her journey, she encounters someone willing to accept the best and the worst of her. A series of one-shots focused on the growing relationship of my bhaalspawn and my dearest Dorn Il-Khan, leading up to the eventual romance in the later games.





	1. Questions left unanswered

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first installment of Strangeness and Charm! This is thought out to be a collection of one-shots that slowly show the growing relationship between my bhaalspawn, Cat, and my dearest half-orc blackguard, Dorn Il-Khan. The chapters will follow specific events that may or may not include in-game interactions between these two, that I personally considered relevant to the development of the eventual romance. This first chapter is set after killing Simmeon and visiting Baldur’s Gate for the first time. I always figured that someone had to notice the bhaalspawn’s weird divine spells that seemingly come out of nowhere, and since Dorn later mentions his patron had seen the potential in the protagonist, it would make sense to me that he’d be interested in their powers, too. Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy this!

Imoen coughed, clutching her abdomen and bending in pain. From her squinting eyes, she saw her own blood staining the floor. Those blasted spiders had really wrecked her with their razor sharp limbs and their poison. How had that deceased dwarf manage to fit such a cave under his tower was a mystery to the young woman. After going down seemingly infinite levels of the tower’s basement, the group had somehow ended up in a cavernous, gigantic stone structure full of cobwebs and acid puddles that burned through their boots when they stepped on them. Of course, not everything was bad; there were plenty of treasures, if one was daring enough to reach out for them. Unfortunately, that meant being faced with groups of giant poisonous spiders, and somehow she had found herself in the way of those especially nasty ones which could phase through the floor and the walls, and now she was shaking and coughing up her insides. As if the cursed tower wasn’t terrifying enough as it was. However, her childhood friend approached her quickly and imposed her hands on her forehead. The mage was quite shorter than Imoen, which had earned some jestful mockery from the redhead back when life was simpler; but she was also a lot curvier, something the rogue secretly found aesthetically pleasing. Her raven black hair cascaded down her back in a mess of curls, and her piercing green glare focused on Imoen’s wounds, narrowed in concentration and well hidden concern -except for someone who had known her for so long, like the thief. Soon enough, healing light glowed in the woman’s hands, and its warmth spread into her friend’s body, who hummed gratefully at the sensation.

 

“Thanks, Cattleya.”

 

The mage furrowed her brow.

 

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” She grouched.

 

“Sorry,  _ Cat, _ ” Imoen snickered, an impish smile spreading into her childlike features.

 

* * *

  
  


It was a rather irritating custom that Imoen had. She’d call Cat by her despised complete name just to bug her, despite her constant refusal to be acknowledged by it. The wizardess wondered what her adoptive father had been thinking when he decided to name her after a damned flower.

 

While she was working on her still injured friend, the witch scanned her surroundings in search of more possible threats, only to be met with  _ that  _ gaze.

 

_ He _ was watching her, again.

 

He had picked up the habit of observing while she used her healing powers ever since he saw them in action for the first time. He had never confronted her about it, nor did he offer an explanation for his insistent staring. He just stood there, quiet as usual, watching her. For most people, having a hulking, armed to the teeth half-orc blackguard staring at them was a more than logical reason to run to the hills, but to Cat, he was just another of her travel companions. In fact, he had turned to be quite reliable, despite his extreme -if understandable- trust issues and his murderous tendencies. Besides, she was no ordinary woman either; her magic grew more powerful by the day, and everyone who crossed her the wrong way ended up burning to death. However, the witch had recently acquired knowledge of the source of her companion’s powers as she assisted him with his bloody revenge against his former group. She didn’t mind it -she was not the judgemental type-, but it did stir curiosity in her. Could it be that he knew something about her own mysterious abilities that she ignored?

 

Once she was done with healing Imoen, the mage dropped her backpack on the spot, attracting the attention of all her partners. She had had enough dungeon touring for the day. The cursed tower was full of interesting riddles, dangerous enemies and mortal traps, and though they had mostly overcome it all with grace and got plenty of profit in the shape of treasured jewels and legendary weapons, they all were pretty beaten up and in need of some rest. No word needed to be said; everyone caught the clue. It was good, as she had grown too tired for chit-chatting, preferring to save her little energy for a more important conversation. The young woman prepared her bedroll and sat quietly to read through the pages of her spell book, memorizing the ones she deemed more useful. In the meantime, Branwen healed the injuries of the remainder of the group, doing a especially thorough job with Coran as the flirty elf complimented the beauty of her eyes -even though his gaze was too down low to meet them-, making the cleric’s cheeks flush red. Imoen chatted with Rasaad while she munched on her portions of dried meat and he performed stretching exercises. Dorn sat alone in a corner, far from the rest of the group, thoroughly cleaning the black blood of the spiders from his brand new greatsword. As much as he was into carnage and murder, he definitely was not one to neglect proper care of his weapons. Once Cat finished sorting through her book, she left the bedroll and took a seat beside him, knowing that nobody would bother them or eavesdrop on their conversation.

 

“So,” she began, exhibiting her most charming smile, “It seems that I am quite a sight, huh?”

 

The half-orc paused his task and turned to face her, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Well, since my powers seem so interesting to you, and I know about yours, I was wondering if maybe those two issues were related,” Cat replied calmly, leaning against the rocky wall as he continued to clean the sword.

 

“You want to know if your abilities originate from a patron,” it was not so much a question as a statement.

 

Cat’s smile fell.

 

“I sometimes get these… dreams,” Cat confessed in a whisper. “They are like visions… mostly of death.” She paused and bit her lip. She had not revealed that information to anyone before. “Did you go through something like that as well, before you became a blackguard?”

 

The man shook his head, hands and eyes focused on the blade.

 

“Not at all. A patron gives no figment of their power until the contract is made, and as for the dreams…” he paused to look at her, frowning. “No, my bond with Ur-Gothoz is mental, he does not come in my sleep.”

 

The mage sighed. At least she had tried…

 

“Well, then it seems that my skills will remain a mystery for now,” she replied, straightening her back.

 

As she was about to get up, Dorn put a hand on her shoulder to still her. She sat back and waited.

 

“Ur-Gothoz himself has shown interest in those powers of yours,” he said. “He has not specified their nature, but he has told me that you hold a high potential, and that you might achieve great feats, which is why I should remain by your side for the time being, as long as you follow your current path.”

 

Cat blinked, shocked by the revelation and wondering whether it would be wise to feel flattered by a compliment that came from a devil.

 

“Perhaps you could ask him?” She suggested, tilting her head to the side.

 

The half-orc huffed and sheathed his now clean sword back into its scabbard.

 

“I do not ask questions; he is the one who gives me orders and guides me,” he explained, with a hint of impatience in his tone that implied the conditions of his contract with his demonic patron were not comfortable ground for conversation.

 

“Oh, well,” the witch fidgeted with the brooch of her tunic, trying to conceal her slight disappointment, “then I guess I’ll stop pestering you now. Thank you for the insight, nonetheless.”

 

As she laid in her bedroll, Cat replayed the conversation with the blackguard in her mind. He had not been ashamed to admit that he would only serve her for as long as it benefitted his patron’s interests, and yet he always seemed rather concerned about topics such as the trustworthiness of her other companions. Granted, he had been betrayed by those he had come to call his friends, but the worries he voiced were directed towards Cat and her well-being. Despite his brutal honesty, he was frustratingly hard to read, and even though she would never admit that  _ anyone  _ was able to get to her in such a way, it  _ infuriated  _ her. Huffing, she pulled up the corners of her bedroll for warmth, determined to let the matter go and hoping to get some sleep before venturing further into the sinister dungeon she had led her group into.


	2. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a paladin tries to kill Dorn without provocation, Cat jumps to his aid without thinking twice... only to find some of her companions are not exactly happy about her decision to support the bloodthirsty blackguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Second chapter already! This one takes place at an inn in Baldur's Gate where a paladin comes up to you and tries to kill the evil-aligned members of your party. Which, in my case, meant Dorn. There is no talking him out of it, and if you kill him, you lose reputation, resulting in a lot of bitching from good characters. Which pissed me off immensely, because I was merely defending myself. What the hell, game.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this. Do not hesitate to comment with feedback of any kind, it will always be welcomed!

The paladin drew his spear and charged against the blackguard at the door, making the commoners inside the inn scream and run away in panic. Dorn stopped the hit with a swing of his greatsword, and pushed to throw his opponent off-balance with his raw strength. The blond man quickly regained his feet and dodged the warrior’s retaliation by diving to the right. With a twist, he shifted and lunged at Dorn’s side. The half-orc grunted in pain when the spear found an opening in his heavy armor.

 

Right in that moment, a flying kick landed on the aggressor’s head, making him stumble and fall to the floor. Rasaad stepped forward, drawing his scimitar. The paladin threw a low kick at his feet to stop his advance, making the monk jump back to dodge the hit, so his would miss. The man rolled to the side, barely avoiding one of Branwen's bullets, which grazed and scratched his temple. He got on one knee, and stopped Dorn’s vicious attack with the mast of his spear, bowing his back and lowering his head from the effort.

 

Suddenly, a red light illuminated his face, and he gasped as the pain made him let go of his weapon. Magic missiles tore through his armor, clothes and skin, and into his flesh. He looked behind the evil he was trying to destroy, and the raven-haired witch flashed a feline smile at him, her fingers still extended and pointing in his direction. Then his eyes caught the metal glint of a slashing sword, and the devil servant’s wicked smile, and everything became darkness.

 

The paladin’s head rolled around the wooden floor of the tavern, covering it in crimson. It stopped at the feet of one of the few people left inside, a man in his forties who screamed and fled at full speed at the sight of the mutilation. Cat looked around the establishment, which reeked of stale wine, piss, and fear, and she saw terror and hate in eyes that didn’t dare to look back at hers. She paid no more heed to the herd of sheep, and turned to her group. Then, she saw that two of her companions shared the same disgusted expressions of the commoners; Imoen seemed on the verge of crying, and Coran’s pointy ears had turned red, which only happened when he got drunk or angry, and his slender body was uncharacteristically tense. Cat narrowed her eyes; she wasn’t in the mood for moral lectures.

 

“What a terrible reception,” she drawled, glancing at the dead body staining the floor with blood. “Let us find a better place to stay.”

 

With that, she walked away with her usual grace, followed by her partners. She was aware that the little scene would earn them the hate of many people in the city, as do-gooders like that one were quite popular in Baldur's Gate, but they weren’t left with much options but to kill the meddling paladin when his self-righteousness prompted him to end Dorn’s life. The mage followed the cobblestones, thinking it best to find a place to rest in another district. Perhaps they could get more expensive rooms that time, for the trouble. Maybe that way the scowls of the group’s rogues would disappear. It was ironic that they would be the ones with the most uptight morals.

 

Speaking of which, Coran was approaching her as she walked.

 

“I cannot give my approval to what we’ve just done,” the elf spat, glaring at her.

 

“ _We_?” Cat chuckled dismissively. “You have done nothing! And yet when you get drunk you chase Dorn around, calling him a friend. Just how fake can you be?”

 

Coran’s face was now the same shade of scarlet as his ears.

 

“He was a paladin; a hero,” he insisted. “And now, we are regarded as villains.”

 

“Oh, so whatever people think about us is more important than protecting the group,” Cat retorted, sarcasm lacing her voice as she sent the elf a death glare.

 

The man paused dead in his tracks, and the mage followed suit, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow in defiance.

 

“All I’m saying is that we are supposed to be heroes,” he said. “And right now it definitely does not feel like we are.”

 

“We are not supposed to be anything,” Cat hissed through gritted teeth, all her patience lost. “I refuse to abide by the labels others try to force on me, do you understand?”

 

For once, the adventurer seemed at a loss for words. He shook his arms in frustration, then his head, and he left, picking up the pace to catch Imoen. The pair started to talk in whispers; Cat did not need to be there to know what they were talking about. She huffed and resumed her walk, not wanting to think about the events that just transpired and focusing on finding a nice place to rest… and drink a little bit more than usual.

 

* * *

 

After wandering around the finer neighborhoods, the group settled for the Three Old Kegs, just east of the ducal palace, in North Baldur’s Gate. It was a truly luxurious establishment that stood three floors tall among beautiful manors, the palace, and the promenade. Inside, it offered a warm and welcoming ambiance, with an abundance of candlelit mahogany tables where commoners and nobles alike enjoyed the food and beverages that the hustling servers delivered to their tables. From the entrance came the exquisite scent of roast, freshly-baked bread and aromatic herbs. The group made its way to the bar, just at the other end of the inn, where the owner, a man clad in studded leather armor, welcomed new guests and took their orders. Cat wore her best fake smile and successfully bargained for royal suites and service upstairs.

 

The second floor was even more opulent, and they had the whole northwest section for themselves. The tables were covered in red linen tablecloths, and the wooden floors were concealed in ample, gold-embroidered rugs. In every wall, beautiful paintings of natural landscapes and portraits of famous guests hanged for everyone to see. Their table was strategically positioned in a corner, with a full view of the stairs and the hallway that led to the other sections of that floor, so they could easily see everyone that came and went. A blond barmaid in a sultry silk robe led them to it, though not before warning the men to watch their manners and their hands, lest they were expelled from the inn. Cat smiled in approval at her attitude, deciding to give her a generous tip later.

 

As the rest of the group took seats, Coran excused himself and left for his suite. Cat rolled her eyes and ignored him; if he wanted to be mad, so be it, she knew well that she was right. She _always_ was.

 

Imoen watched him go in silence, and then turned to face her best friend.

 

“Hey, can we go upstairs for a moment?” Her expression was unusually serious.

 

Cat followed the woman towards one of the sumptuous suites she had rented. Imoen opened the door and sat in one of the king-sized canopy beds. The mage closed the door and faced the rogue, resting a hand on her hip and exhaling in annoyance.

 

“What? You want to tell me off, too?”

 

“Cat, don’t ya see what happened?” Imoen whispered. “We killed a force of good. ‘Tis very serious, I don’t get how you can be so calm about it.”

 

“I am so calm because the so-called force of good we killed attacked us unprovoked, and we just defended ourselves,” the mage retorted, rolling her eyes in disdain.

 

“Ya mean he attacked that… mutton-mongerin’ riffraff,” Imoen muttered, averting her eyes and frowning, arms crossed.

 

“Listen,” Cat approached her friend and delicately grabbed her chin, so she would be looking at her in the eye, “I am fully aware that you dislike Dorn, but he is a part of the group. We all must look out for one another.”

 

“Ya really think he gives a damn about us?” the rogue insisted, pushing the other woman’s hand away in defiance.

 

Cat tensed up, and arched her head up, narrowing her eyes in silent warning.

 

“He might as well do, if he wants to stay with us. Just like everyone else,” the mage rebutted. “And for the record, that paladin would have gone after you too, had he known you are a thief.”

 

Imoen’s eyes widened in shock and hurt. She stood up.

 

“I can’t believe you, Cat. I can barely recognize you right now.”

 

With that, she hastily left the room. Cat tried to follow her, but the thief hurried into the adjacent suite and locked the door. The woman outside sighed and made her way back downstairs, taking a mental note to order the strongest drinks in the inn so she would sooner forget that disastrous day.

 

At the table, the mood was a bit more uplift. Rasaad and Branwen conversed with cordiality of their most recent battles, complimenting each other on their prowess. Cat took a sit and drummed her fingers on the wooden table, impatient for the service to come. Dorn sat at the farthest corner, in utter silence. After a short while, the barmaid finally served the first round of drinks, and Cat eagerly swallowed her evermead, making Branwen clap her hands in approval.

 

“You drink like a son of Valkur, friend,” she joked.

 

“Ah, at last someone who calls me that,” the brunette bitterly spat, glaring at the bottom of her now empty pewter mug.

 

“Everyone in the group does, why would we not?” The blond cleric said in a softer voice, exchanging a brief, knowing look with Rasaad that did not go unnoticed to the mage.

 

“Apparently some think that defending one another is not heroic when your attacker is some stuck-up gods’ pet,” Cat mumbled, absentmindedly tracing the border of the pitcher with her index finger.

 

“You are being too harsh on yourself, Cat,” Rasaad intervened, putting a soothing hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You did what had to be done, and so did we.”

 

“But?”

 

“But?” The monk repeated, blinking in confusion.

 

“I know there is a 'but’, so spit it out,” Cat drawled, annoyed at the man’s habit of beating around the bush.

 

Rasaad doubted for a moment, but inhaled, bracing himself.

 

“While we have done what we had to do, I do understand Coran and Imoen’s displeasure,” he finally let out. “We have killed somebody who was just acting out of his vows and doing what he considered the right thing, and it has earned us the people’s animosity. I believe that we should try to avoid situations of this kind in the future.”

 

“We may try, but if the situations encounter us first, we will do what we have to do,” Cat answered, still on edge. “Don’t forget that we helped you as well when the Dark Moon monks came after you.”

 

“I have not forgotten. I never will,” he replied, locking eyes with the mage. “What I mean to say is that you can solve this problem, Cat. I trust that you can. It might take time, but if you keep your mind clear of harmful thoughts that may distract you, I am certain you will make it.”

 

Cat smiled at Rasaad. It was good to see that he still trusted her, despite the stark differences in their moral codes.

 

“Thank you, friend.”

 

Soon after, the group got served dinner; heavily spiced roast chicken and potatoes cooked in goat butter, a local specialty. For dessert, they had a scrumptious, crisp apple pie. A dinner and a mug of evermead later, Cat’s mood somewhat improved, and she even took Rasaad’s cup of herbal tea from his hands, in order to try it. When the rose and cinnamon notes hit her palate, she hummed approvingly and returned the cup to the perplexed man. At some point in that night, he got convinced to try the evermead -possibly by Cat herself-, but it proved too intense for his untrained palate, and the monk soon excused himself and called it a night. Branwen followed after some more glasses of winter wine -she was easily the heaviest drinker in the group-, stating it would make her feel embarrassed if her speech started to slur. In the end, only Cat and Dorn remained, drinking in silence. With an impish grin, the witch slowly stretched her arm to snatch the half-orc’s pitcher of mead, but he grabbed her wrist with a vise-like grip and stared daggers at her.

 

“Do it and I will cut both your hands off,” he growled.

 

“Ow! No need to be so rude,” Cat protested, rubbing the sore hand that had just been released. “I just wanted to try it.”

 

“Then order one for yourself.”

 

The woman rolled her eyes.

 

“You know, it wouldn't kill you to loosen up a bit, even if only around me,” she said, staring straight into the blackguard’s eyes. “Because if not the others, at least you trust me, right?”

 

The warrior fell silent for a moment and took a swig of his drink.

 

“I trust you,” he finally admitted. “You have helped me quite some times, and I am aware that doing so has gotten you in trouble,” he paused to chug down some more mead. “And yet, you have not betrayed me to this point. Yes, you have proven to be worthy of my trust, but if you think that will make me your pet, like the monk, you are very wrong.”

 

“He is not a pet,” she chuckled. “Anyway, I am glad I have your trust. Just know that you have mine, too. You have not failed me even once so far, and I appreciate that.”

 

For a while, none said anything. They just sat in silence, but it felt comfortable; natural. Both knew enough for words not to be a requirement. As long as they kept on having each other’s backs, there would be nothing for them to worry about, Cat was certain of that. As she had once told him, there was no need to be friends; trust was all that they both needed for their association to work.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I am enjoying writing it. I might also be posting independent one-shots, so stay tunned! Or not, I can't promise much when my muse is such an unstable little shit.


	3. Interlude - Belladonna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting stranded in the Isle of Balduran, Cat and her group aid a mysterious historian that seems to quickly get attached to the witch... which prompts her to play a little game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the third chapter of Strangeness and Charm! This one is much shorter - hence its title-, and it is set at Werewolf Island, after retrieving the flowers for Durlyle. I actually cracked at how shy the poor guy got after flirting with him; I loved how the game lets you get all “no one walks away from me” when he rejects you. Being that I was romancing Dorn -well, as far as that romance goes in the first game-, I was curious about how he could react to the kiss moment -even though he says nothing in-game-, and this is the result. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 

Cat was unable to hold back a chuckle as she watched Durlyle stumble out of his usual spot at the pumpkin patch, eyes widened and cheeks flushed. She knew she was going to scare him off with her straightforwardness when he -sort of- confessed his feelings for her, but she just couldn’t help it. The historian was not only cultured enough that she could have an actually interesting conversation with him; he was also sweet and innocent, and _very_ attached to the nasty rock he called home. A fair entertainment, sure, but also a safe one. It was the only kind of game she was willing to play… and she always finished those before getting attached or giving her victims what they craved –because in the end, they all wanted the same. As if she would be so stupid to trust anyone to get so close! Thus, she teased him, not so much for genuine interest in pursuing him, but for the sake of getting a fun reaction.

 

She did not expect him to steal a kiss from her, though. The werewolf almost managed to leave her speechless. The witch brushed her lips with the tip of her fingers, enthralled with the memory. It had been chaste and a bit sloppy, but it also felt warm, sweet and kind of tingly. Definitely pleasant enough that she wouldn’t really mind doing it once more, before leaving that darned island once and for all.

 

However, such thoughts were quickly interrupted by a deep voice she knew all too well.

 

“Pathetic,” Dorn huffed with his arms crossed, watching the man's retreat in disdain.

 

“Do you think so? I found him quite nice…” Cat replied as she examined the improvised bouquet of belladonna flowers Durlyle had gifted her. The petals were ample and had an extravagant fuchsia color, and a strange smell came from the inside of the flowers, but they were pretty nonetheless.

 

“You mean cowardly,” the half-orc insisted, narrowing his eyes. “To run away like that, it speaks volumes of his worth.”

 

“Alas, all the sweet ones act like that,” Cat said in a soft voice, running a finger up one of the broad petals. “Why does it bother you so much, though?”

 

“It doesn’t—!” The blackguard gasped in a rush, clenching his fists, his eyes uncharacteristically widened.

 

Cat said nothing. She just smirked and raised an eyebrow, silently questioning his _very_ exaggerated and rather interesting reaction. Dorn fell silent, gritted teeth and tense jaw, as if weighing his next words.

 

“I just cannot stand those who waste the chances others would seize because of uptight morals,” he grumbled, averting his look.

 

Cat blinked in amusement, and wondered for a moment how far she could push the huge half-orc without putting her own life in danger due to his violent temper. The thought of teasing him like she had done Durlyle was so hilarious and downright _tempting_ that a soft giggle escaped her lips, before she could do anything to stop it.

 

“What?” The blackguard demanded, in a dangerously low growl and a deep frown.

 

 _Uh, oh. Too late to retreat, might as well go all the way, at least just this once,_ Cat thought, biting her lip, suddenly feeling nervous.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she snickered, holding the belladonna bouquet closer as she strode into the village. “I really hope that those… _others_ do seize their chance if it comes to them, because it is one chance I give, and only one.”

 

Dorn stared at her retreating figure for a moment, and his eyes darkened at the sight. Grumbling, he huffed, shook his head and followed his leader in silence, brushing aside the thoughts that her words had almost arised. If she thought that she could provoke him that easily, then she was a fool.

 

As the witch walked towards Kaishas Gan’s hut, determined to get into her ship and out of the island, she thought of what she had just said to Dorn. She knew he would not take her seriously, and there was no harm in a little joke -at least not as long as the blackguard didn't get offended enough to slice her in two with his greatsword-, but there was a tiny part of her that was slightly worried about what would happen if he did take her words. Worse; there was an even tinier part of her that was curious about such a possibility. There was no denying that he was attractive, and he was rather charming in his own brutal way, but unlike all the other boys and girls Cat had flirted with, she actually trusted him… so there was no way she could let him closer than they already were. She could not, she _would_ not get attached.

 

 _Snap out of it, you fool. It was just a joke,_ she told herself over and over _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Since it was so short, I think I will update the next one in a few days. As usual, all kinds of feedback is welcome, so don't be shy and see you soon!


	4. Anything could happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat and her companions arrive at Candlekeep, where the Iron Throne heads are reunited. Tension starts to take its toll on her, unbeknownst to most of her companions -except one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the fourth chapter of Strangeness and Charm! This time, it will be a little longer. This one is based in one of the last conversations with Dorn. Honestly, I squealed when he said “perhaps you and I…”, and so I want to reflect the slight turn he and Cat are now taking. Also featuring Cat having to be the mom friend and actually regretting having dragged Imoen around in her adventures. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

  


Cat traced the runes on the book, murmuring the words to decipher its hidden magic, to unveil it into something she could understand. Imoen watched her with her usual curiosity. It had taken the witch a rather generous deal of “good” actions for the young woman and Coran to make up with her, but at last the group dynamic was back to normal, and Cat could not feel more grateful for it. It was unbearably uncomfortable to lead people who did not even bother to look you in the eye.

 

“What is it?” Imoen inquired, peeping at the book over Cat’s shoulder.

 

“A book about magic essays called the Nether Scrolls,” the wizardess explained, squinting her eyes to try and read the obscure writing.

 

“What does it say?”

 

“I don’t know,” Cat admitted with a sigh after a short bit, closing the book with a thud. “I can’t decipher it. Not even with magic.”

 

“Oh. Weird,” Imoen took the book in her hands, flicking through the pages cramped with unknown runes.

 

“Hey, give it back,” Cat chastised the rogue. “I only wanted to know what it is about, but now we must retrieve it.”

 

The redhead complied, not before some playful whining. How she managed to keep her spirits up in grave situations like the one they now faced, Cat ignored it completely. It was almost as if she was not even aware of the danger. _This is my fault. It was I who always told her how darn amazing the outside world would be,_ she bitterly thought.

 

The group of adventurers made their way from the steep paths and cliffs to the outer walls of the fortress, where a guard stood vigilant in front of the giant oak gates, caged by an iron grill. The man relaxed his posture upon recognizing the mage that led the party.

 

“Greetings, Cattleya,” he warmly saluted. “If you wish to return, you must bring a tome of ancient knowledge to the library, as I am sure you recall.”

 

“It is Cat, please. Here it is, History of the Nether Scrolls,” she replied, handing him the book with a polite smile.

 

The man took a look at the book cover and leafed through the pages to check its authenticity. Candlekeep Watchers like him received a draconian education and were expected to be able to recognize rare and valuable volumes not present at the colossal library.

 

“Indeed, this will make for a significant contribution,” he announced as he closed the book, seemingly satisfied with its inscrutable contents. “You may pass, Cattleya. Welcome back.”

 

“It’s… Oh, whatever.”

 

The Watcher gestured his partners on the inside, and from there came the squeal of pulleys and chains and the lifting grill. Then, the gates creaked open, and the party was granted access to Cat and Imoen's old home. The adventurers began to walk into the fortress, when the guard placed a firm hand on Cat’s shoulder.

 

“Listen, I trust that you will not cause any trouble,” his warm tone was a stark contrast with the stern look of warning he sent the witch. “But I hope you do inform your less… civilized companions that our rules are very strict.”

 

The wizardess forced herself to exhibit her most charming grin and erase the scowl that was already beginning to form in her face. That disgustingly judgemental disposition was one of the reasons why she had been so glad to leave.

 

“Of course.”

* * *

 

 

Candlekeep looked exactly the same as when Cat had hurriedly left with Gorion, an eternity or two ago. It was quiet, peaceful; almost too much. Few people could be seen wandering the streets, aside from the Watchers and the occasional tutors and sages. The stone walls of the library stood before the companions in all their immensity. Outside, rows and rows of tiny wooden houses bore refuge for the keep’s inhabitants. Imoen beamed with her usual cheerfulness and took a couple steps ahead to admire the surroundings. She was home, again.

 

“Can I go say hi to ol’ _Puffguts,_ pleeeease?” Imoen begged, taking Cat’s hand in her own and shaking it softly. “When I left, I didn’t get to say goodbye…”

 

The witch huffed. There she went again, with her puppy eyes and her feigned innocent face. They were not in Candlekeep for leisure; the Iron Throne was lurking in the shadows, and it was their chance to strike and finish them for good. It was a dangerous mission that should be taken with the utmost seriousness.

 

But then again, it was Imoen, and Cat was the reason she had not remained safe in those walls or said goodbye to old Winthrop to begin with.

 

“Alright,” the mage sighed in defeat. “You may go, but make it fast. And take Rasaad with you,” she added, pointing at the quiet monk. “The Iron Throne’s here; I’m not taking any chances.”

 

“Aww, thank you thank you thank you!” The rogue pulled her friend into a tight hug, jumping in excitement. “I promise I’ll be good!”

 

“I shall take care of her,” Rasaad promised as he stepped closer to the thief.

 

“Make sure she stays out of trouble,” Cat joked, forcing herself to smile and pretend not to be worried at all.

 

The monk nodded and followed Imoen. The witch watched them leave in silence, tension building in her body against her will. Branwen eyed her, and then glanced back at Coran, who made a discreet nod.

 

“Cat?” She called, hesitant. “I would like to visit the temple. You once told me there was a place of worship for Oghma here in Candlekeep, am I correct?”

 

“There is,” the brunette answered in a dry tone, already knowing where the conversation was headed.

 

“May I, um, visit it for a moment, while Imoen is away?” She requested, stammering a bit, something extremely uncharacteristic of the mighty warrior. “You know I always like to debate with clerics who worship different deities about… you know, the… nature of divinity and faith.”

 

Cat groaned inwardly. That could not be any farther from the truth. Although the blond priestess did not mind chatting to other clerics about metaphysical and religious matters, the witch was perfectly aware of the tension currently building between the blonde and Coran. Even in that same moment, Branwen could not help herself from stealing some glances at the elf, who eagerly stared right back. When would she ever stop having to behave like a mother, guiding her astray companions and having to be responsible for _everything?_

 

“Alright, you may go,” she droned, not wanting to know more about the priestess and the rogue for a while. “Don’t take too long.”

 

“Thank you kindly!”

 

“Fear not, friend, I shall accompany this fine lady to ensure nothing bad happens to her,” Coran chimed in, shamelessly circling Branwen’s waist.

 

“Yeah, whatever, just go.”

 

The pair scurried away, unsurprisingly, in the opposite direction. Cat rolled her eyes. She then turned to her only companion left.

 

“Shall we do something actually productive?”

 

Dorn cocked his head to the side, eyeing the woman with slight curiosity.

 

“Isn’t it tiring?”

 

The witch glared at him. How did he always manage to read her so easily?

 

“What are you talking about?” She grumbled, as she began to walk.

 

“Hrmm. You take much time to talk to people we could more easily sweep from our path,” he explained, pointing in the direction Coran and Branwen had left. “You cannot trust their words, only their actions.”

 

Cat snickered. Unlike the more uptight members of her group, she found the half-orc's antisocial behavior to be quite humorous. And smart, for that matter.

 

“You know, sometimes it’s easier to talk than fight. Not to mention more convenient.”

 

The blackguard huffed.

 

“Hrmm. That may be true for some, but not for Dorn Il-Khan,” he claimed with a smirk, his sharp chin pointed up in pride.

 

Cat had wanted to make a snarky comeback about the half-orc's unmeasurable ego, or the high inconvenients of murdering one’s way out of every problem, but she was completely taken aback by the blackguard's grin. It was an unusual sight, and an extremely pleasant change from his usual scowl. In that gesture of confidence, she saw something dark… and extremely alluring.

 

She didn’t even notice she had stopped on her tracks to gaze at him until she registered his face, with an eyebrow raised in a questioning look. Heart about to burst, the mage quickly composed herself and grinned back at her companion. If he was to start getting reactions like those from her, there would definitely be some payback.

 

“Oh, I love it when you talk about yourself in the third person… It gives me chills,” she said, rubbing her arms for emphasis, a devious glint in her eyes.

 

It was Dorn's turn to be shocked.

 

“What!? What are you saying?”

 

Cat took a couple steps forward. She could see Imoen walking out of the inn, in the distance. It would soon be time to get in motion. She turned to face Dorn again.

 

“I’m saying don’t ever change. I like you the way you are,” she replied with a warm, wholehearted smile.

 

Dorn paused for a moment, taking in the mage's words, with the usual frown he got when in deep thought.

 

“Hrmm. I distrust such a sentiment in others, but… perhaps you and I—”

 

“Hey!” Imoen chimed in, sprinting to catch her companions, with Rasaad close behind. “I’m done. Where are Coran and Branwen?”

 

Dorn groaned.

 

“Oh, enough of this foolishness!”

 

Cat fell silent for a moment, watching the blackguard walk away. She wondered what he was about to say… No, that was not the time for entertaining such thoughts. She had to focus in the Iron Throne.

 

“Right, let’s go fetch the lovebirds,” she drawled, following the half-orc and hoping they would be able to drag them out of their hideout without having to see things she would never be able to unsee.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really hope you are enjoying this little story. As always, feedback would be really appreciated. Heh, sorry for repeating myself so much, but I would really like to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong, so I can hopefully improve.


	5. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat finds out the truth about her heritage. She can finally put together the pieces of her early life. But, who amongst her companions will stand by her side once they find out that she is a Bhaalspawn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter of Strangeness and Charm! It is set after finding out about the Bhaalspawn's heritage, and it includes Dorn’s dialogue on the matter. I thought I’d better expand the meaning of the conversation in the context of Cat and Dorn’s relationship, especially given how I think Cat would react to the big news. I need to keep shaping her.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy it!

Cat skimmed through the letter again and again, reading its contents until they stopped making sense. Why, it all actually made so much sense that she should not even feel surprised. Ever since the first time she killed, she knew that she had always felt drawn to death, to murder. It was only logical that her real father would turn out to be the dead god who used to rule over such matters. However, that was not what troubled her. It was the implications of Gorion’s words that felt as though a dagger had slid into her heart. He had been in love with her mother, who was horrifically raped by the Lord of Murder and who later died during Cat’s birth. Her real first kill. And according to the letter, Gorion felt obliged to raise her as his own. Out of love for her dead mother. Her mother, not Cat.

 

Reaching into memories, the witch tried to find instances of warmth, of moments when Gorion had truly been the father he had hoped she would remember him by. All she could remember was how quick he was to judge the whole of her actions as ill-willed, long before they became so.  _ Precisely  _ because he deemed everything she did as evil, she had begun to turn selfish and harmful. What was the point of trying to gain his approval, if she could not gain his trust to begin with? Why should she keep trying? He never explained what his paranoia was about, he never gave her a chance to show she was not the monster he feared she would become.

 

Adding insult to injury, Cat quickly learned how a  _ real _ father was supposed to behave, when Imoen arrived at Candlekeep at the sweet age of ten. Old Winthrop had taken her in, and despite his gruff manners, he had raised her kindly, with love. He would lecture and ground her if she was caught stealing, he would even slap her on the back of her head, but he hugged her and told her that he loved her every day. And when she did succeed in stealing from the inn visitors without being detected, the greedy innkeeper would pat her head, tussle her hair and say “That’s my little girl. I am so proud of you.” Gorion never told Cat that he loved her. He never said he was proud of her. Instead, he only saw her flaws and mistakes, and he desperately tried to still her progress in magic, as he saw it too dangerous for her to gain so much power in so little time. He never appreciated her precocious intellect, while other tutors had been impressed by it. He kept her from travelling and exploring the outside like she dreamed; he held her captive in the stone walls of Candlekeep, barring her from the sections of the library  _ he _ considered too dangerous, until he could no longer hide her from the world.

 

He had carried out his duty in the best way he could, but he never really loved her.

 

The rest of Candlekeep feared her, and for good reason. When they were younger, Imoen was fascinated by the witch’s quick wit and the silly cantrips she used to display to impress her friend, but there were things that Cat could not say even to her. The thief had been angered when she killed that paladin, how would she react if she found out that the witch had already shed blood before abandoning Candlekeep? How would she react when Cat revealed the contents of Gorion's letter?

 

The mage crumpled the scroll in her fist, feeling her eyes burning with the tears that threatened to fall.  _ No, I cannot cry,  _ she thought as she quickly dried her eyes with her sleeve,  _ I won’t give you that satisfaction, “father”. _

 

* * *

 

Cat’s companions spoke to her, each voicing their worries about having a half-goddess daughter of the dead god of murder leading their group. But no words could reach her anymore. They did not matter. Or at least that was what she told herself when the onslaught began.

 

“I can’t believe it...”

 

“So is that why you had that divine power?”

 

“What will you do about it?”

 

“You need to think of the path you shall walk…”

 

“ENOUGH,” she bellowed at her shocked partners. “Can we MAYBE wait to discuss this matter until we have finally stopped the Iron Throne?”

 

No one dared to say a word. Instead, one by one they left the room that used to be Gorion’s. Only one of them remained, staring at her with a piercing gaze that she did not dare to match, preferring to turn her back to him, cross her arms and bite her lip hard enough to hurt, trying to calm herself and keep a stoic stance. He had not said anything since she confided him and the others the truth about her heritage, and Cat was not sure what to expect. She was already in a dark enough mood; she did not need any more shows of distrust.

 

“I can hardly believe it. You, the spawn of Bhaal himself!”

 

Cat flinched. Why did everyone suddenly have  _ so much  _ to say about her?

 

“Ur-Gothoz was wise to tie my fate to yours. Think of the rivers of blood we could spill across the realms!” He continued, excitement showing in his deep voice.

 

Car turned to face him, wide-eyed at his enthusiasm.

 

“Well… While the prospect of having divine heritage intrigues me,” she said, carefully weighing her words. “I cannot say I’m comfortable with the source.”

 

That was another issue. The letter clearly stated that she was a product of rape, and that her mother had died at childbirth. So she could not even find solace for her heartache in there. How could she, if she was a living reminder of the worst a woman could ever endure? What right did she have, then, to claim her mother’s love, even if just in her imagination?

 

“The source of your divine essence doesn't matter, don't you see?” Dorn insisted.

 

“You are dramatically missing the point here,” the witch retorted, glaring at the half-orc.

 

“Bhaal is DEAD!” He exclaimed, shaking his broad arms and startling the woman. “I say that the blood of a god is the blood of a god. It matters not from whence it came.”

 

Cat looked down, pensive. At least that much was right. Bhaal died years ago, and she was free to follow her own path. He had tried to influence her through dreams, but she was not about to let a god decide her fate. No him, not anyone.

 

“So that’s it? You do not mind what I am?” She asked, almost breathless, trying not to feed her own hopes for the understanding she so much yearned for.

 

“That is exactly what I am saying.”

 

Cat gave a deep sigh of relief and disbelief. At last, someone who accepted everything she was, and not just the parts that were “convenient”. Perhaps he could even become her follower, if he were to remain by her side. She let her eyes meet his.

 

“You are right. I should embrace this gift.”

 

Dorn grinned, showing all of his sharp fangs, as he placed a heavy hand on the mage's shoulder.

 

“Yes! I can see it now. A great fate awaits you. Do not forget those who have bled for you when you finally ascend.”

 

Cat arched an eyebrow, her usual smirk back into place. Ascending into godhood… that was a tempting prospect. Especially with the help of a good friend.

 

“We shall see…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we have reached the end of the first part of Strangeness and Charm. Next, I will be uploading the second part, set in Siege of Dragonspear. It is yet not finished, so I might start to update slower. I might post one-shots to compensate for it. I really hope you have enjoyed the beginning of this series, and that you will stay with me for the next parts. See you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked this! I would greatly appreciate any feedback. Did you love it? Did you hate it? Leave your comments!
> 
> Also, sorry if any of you are disappointed about the "straight" couple. I recently started the Enhanced Edition with a female character, and when I saw that Dorn was romanceable, I just could not help myself. I mean, he's a lot more interesting than most romance options. It's a blessing that he's available for any character!


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